Das Fever of Dachau

The captain looked at the file for a moment. In English, he said to the young man, “Well Albert, I see you also speak English and other languages correct.”

The major, at this point, seemed to be paying close attention to what was being said as the typewriter banged away in the background.

He was surprised they were aware of his language skills, then he realized if they had his file, they knew all this information already. “I speak some English Russian and am fluent in French.” He replied in English.

The major cleared his throat, “Excuse me, captain, may I ask a question?”

Lieutenant Rogers spoke up quite annoyed, “are you not here to observe only?”

Before the major replied, the captain spoke up,” ˇThe major has many years of experience with the enemy. Major, make it brief.”

“Es-Tu un traitre? “the major said in French, fully aware no one else in the room spoke French.

“My mother was German; my father was French. I was born in Alsace-Lorraine.” He replied in English. The teenager knew this would quickly come up and this is why he expected a quick execution.

The major looked around the room, “I asked him if he was a traitor to France.”

The captain looked at a couple of papers while the major spoke, “ I see you got awards; where are they?” he said, looking into his eyes.

“Lost, taken, I do not know.” He replied as he looked at the various men in the room.

“An Iron Cross lost?” asked the lieutenant.

“In our army, we do not wear our decorations all the time, but I know your military generally does, especially a combat earned Iron Cross, even if it is,” the captain paused for effect, “only second class.”

He felt very uncomfortable, he never wanted the metal, but his service on the eastern front two years ago led to the award. He elected to sit there staring straight ahead at his interrogators. “It is the truth. It is gone.”

The captain looked at the papers before him for a moment, “At fifteen, you volunteered for the SS Stumbrigade in March 1943.”

“Yes, and no," Albert said in a monotone voice." The recruiters spoke to my father and mother and explained that I could volunteer or be drafted with a Germanic heritage, I would serve the Reich. Volunteering might keep me in a friendly situation; I might avoid the eastern front.”

The lieutenant grinned, “That worked out well, didn’t it.”

“How did you learn all the languages?” asked the captain.

“German and French were both spoken in the neighborhood. I took to languages easily; my Russian was not very good at first. I learned it from a Roma boy who was my friend. My Russian got better on the eastern front; each region seems to speak differently, but after a while, I started to understand them quickly."

The lieutenant wrote on his legal notepad for a moment as he spoke; he looked up and asked him, “ Did you train under the Swiss SS Major Henrich Hersche?”

“I did not, my papers said I would, but there was a problem,” he replied. He remembered the day we went for his medical exam at the local SS recruitment office near his home. Everyone seemed so surprised to see him. he overheard one recruiter wondering why they had sunk so low into the age pool already. This recruitment drive was for university-age French and Belgium males; he was still only fifteen years old.

“You were too young even for the SS in 1943,” the captain said as he lit a cigarette.

“My parents hoped so. The day I was in the recruitment center a Waffen SS Obersturmbannführe was looking at the files of the recruits, I never knew who he was, but my language ability impressed him; he quizzed me on my language skills. He had me speak to him in Russian for some time. I was ordered to report immediately to a train station. I was sent for training and placed with a combat unit.”

"What training center did you go to?" asked the captain.

"It was outside of Munich," he said not wanting to give too much detail.

"WHERE?" said the captain in a louder voice.

"Near Dachau, sir," he replied almost expecting to be struck.

“I see, the Das Reich, Second Waffen SS division seemed to specifically select you.

"When I arrived at the training center several different officers spoke to me, seemed they had problems with understanding some of the Roma languages and the Slavic people confused their experts," he said almost in passing.

He remembered going through basic training that seemed to move along at lightning speed. He already knew many of the basics of drilling through the Hitler Jugend his family had him involved in. Though he was only fourteen, he would help with anti-aircraft batteries as part of his drills. It seemed the trainers were much more interested in examining his language skills than anything else. They seemed to want to examine his ability to speak different languages and did their very best to confuse him, by often switching languages several times in one conversation.

The captain's fingers flipped through a file and seemed to point something out to the officer next to him. They both looked at it for a moment, "I do not see such comments often in files about fifteen-year-old boys, seems your time at this camp was very short." Albert could not help but notice the British major's eyes never seems to leave him, but the captain spoke directly into his files.

“No, I was informed they required my language skills.” He responded as he stared straight ahead. He could still remember not even being sixteen as his train arrived on the eastern front.

His. new uniform stood out as he left the train, a veteran of the Russian Front a man from the Rhineland was his guide. He was returning to his unit after recovering from injuries and having a week off to go home.

"Just listen to the officers and veterans and you might live to seventeen," he said several times on the train ride. He once pointed very seriously at him saying, "I hate the Russians and they hate you and me! In battle watch out either our Panzers or their T-34s may just run you down for sport!"

“You would receive your Iron Cross there.” Said the lieutenant.

“Yes, also was promoted to SS Oberschutze.” He responded as he noticed the British Major staring at him like he was about to say something.

“So you are some sort of Aryan super-soldier, at fifteen getting promoted in rank and getting an Iron Cross.” Said the lieutenant as he tossed his pen onto the table with a grin.

“No sir,” he replied in a broken tone. “Far from it, I hated being there.”

The captain stared into the young man’s eyes and saw a teenager that appeared scared and not like many of the Hitler Youth or younger SS troops he had already spoken to in the last seven months of the war. “Then what were you?” he asked.

He leaned back in his chair for a moment, almost wanting to shed a tear, but after what he had seen, what he had done, the tears were all gone. “I was scared. My first battle was the worst. We were trying to take that Russian shit hole of a place, what was it called.”

Author's note

You have now read Chapter Two of "Das Fever of Dachau" I look forward to your comments, suggestions and more. Please feel free to subscribe so you do not miss the other chapters of this original short novel.

Thank you, Chapter Three is Titled "Warrior or Spy?"